Instruments of Darkness
by SamuelSpaz
Summary: When Mulder makes an irrevocable sacrifice, Scully finds herself unwillingly chasing down one of his leads: a suspect whom they find has the ability to get inside their heads--in the most literal sense of the word. Please R&R!
1. Interrupted

Yay! First X-Files story! I am terribly sorry still about my Fringe fics, which seem to have disappeared in the dark recesses of my brain instead of continuing, but I DO have some more chapters that are almost finished on those, so that's good news.

Anyway...this was just an idea (as all good stories once were) and I'm not sure where it is going to take me. And you know what? Following the advice of a new foudn friend, I actually did some research for my story! The Willard InterContinental does exist and has the most inspiring ballroom (although I fabricated the mysterious room, but hey, artistic license here...). Well...enjoy!

--

**Instruments of Darkness**

--

_And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,_

_The instruments of darkness tell us truths,_

_Win us with honest trifles, to betray's_

_In deepest consequence_

_Macbeth; Act I, Scene iii_

--

University of Maryland

June 2

7:07 PM

--

A breeze, so wet and heavy it could hardly be called a breeze, rambled desperately across through the University of Maryland. Nearly sending them on a tumbleweed-like journey across the red-bricked campus, it badgered the rare pedestrian relentlessly and warned of a forthcoming summer storm.

Darting from her vehicle, the blonde-haired occupant of the worn, metallic highlander attempted, though unsuccessfully, to briskly dodge the thick drops of water now falling from the sky. Her destination was the hall a few soggy yards away, a tall, bricked building identical to those surrounding. The young woman had a killer headache and the books, though few, she held in her hand got wetter by the second. Her socks and sandals choice of footwear wasn't faring well in the rapidly swelling puddles either.

The girl reached the door in a matter of seconds and fumbled around for her keycard, accidentally dropping her uneaten apple from lunch in the process. Swearing, she bent to pick it up, but while she managed to hang onto her load of textbooks, a long blue earring slipped out of her ear and fell among the water at her feet. The apple was forgotten as she tried to locate the jewelry in the grey-blue light of dusk. The piece was retrieved, the girl collected herself and the locked entrance to the dorm was hastily clicked open.

Before the door could even shut and the head of long blonde hair disappear out of sight, lightning flashed. The college student had left outside seemingly nothing but a storm brewing to its extreme. The rain pounded down, recoating the ground with wet, but the wind tussled something else down the concrete steps.

Then, from inside the building, a scream echoed out across the dark courtyard. Lightening flashed again, illuminating the apple that gently rolled into the night.

--

Willard InterContinental Ballroom, District of Columbia

June 9

9:42 PM

--

Dana Scully, against all odds, found herself smiling even wider than Fox Mulder. Grinning like a school girl, she watched her cohort dart up to the carefully situated podium and survey the audience with a very Mulder air of self-enlightened confidence.

Tonight, however, this aura was rather misleading. Inside, Mulder was asking himself the questions normally asked by the now smiling Scully. Disbelieving that the show the bureau had laid out for him could bring any good, he seemed the one more grounded in the reality of the questionable circumstances. It was to be a night of celebration, a night honoring him, but as he scanned the sea of colorful faces he spotted few friends. At this commencement, his enemies were just as much at hand.

He had meant to inform Scully of his suspicions, but she had been so thrilled it would've broken her heart. Indeed, Scully had been her polite, sensible self all evening, but, as the hour at hand drew nearer, Mulder had noticed her becoming excited, nervous even. Every greeting or manner of dutiful conversation was soon accompanied by an over-zealous smile and exclamation. He spared the time to glance over at her now.

She stood against the far wall in her black velvet dress and beamed even wider as they made eye contact. Mulder couldn't bring himself to enhance his smile; it would betray the grimace it disguised. She was so happy for him, but Mulder knew the truth as to what the night was to reveal.

It was such thoughts that caused him to glance to the other corner of the room. The occupant of the space stood tensely, gazing at Mulder half-heartedly but with an intent so scouring it felt to Mulder as if it literally bore right through him.

_I know why you're such a confident cock tonight_, he thought fiercely, just to counter the stare, _and you know I know._

A hint of truth crept into his forced smile. _Then again, that still means I know._

If the man in the corner could read Mulder's thoughts, he gave no sign of it and instead took another puff from his cigarette.

Mulder steadily took in the crowd, careful not to make eye contact with Scully again, for his insides were flip-flopping already and it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. The anxiety in the air suffocated. The room was eager to hear what Mulder had to say, but the Agent had not expected them to let him stay this far into the night and subsequently had not planned speech of any kind. Nonetheless, he only choice at the moment was to lean forward to the microphone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he began, rather coldly, "I want to thank you all for being here tonight and I would especially like to thank the Bureau for allowing such an event to even happen."

Scully, still in her corner, felt her smile begin to fade. Something was wrong with Mulder; she could see it. And she definitely didn't like the direction this acceptance speech was taking.

"I realize that it is difficult for many of to understand or even pretend to understand the methods, theories and ideologies I employ when working with my special cases."

_Come on, Mulder. They're honoring you; don't rat them out, not tonight._ Scully watched her partner with a new found concern.

"But tonight I realize that some of you do understand and even respect my work."

Scully smiled. _Good boy, Mulder. Don't bite the hand that feeds you._

Mulder flashed his concealing grimace again. _Bullshit. I am speaking complete and utter bullshit_.

"Thank you, once more. I do hope the bureau continues to recognize my efforts to explain the inexplicable in the future."

Scully shifted her weight and pretended to look down and adjust her dress. _Why is Mulder acting so oddly? He was fine all this evening, but now…_ She looked up at him again. _He was just given a chance to speak, to speak what he wanted to say and Fox Mulder kept quiet and to a minimum. _Mulder had acted how she would've acted and that was what scared her.

She realized that her fears were not without reason. Two uniformed officers had appeared up front. One pushed Mulder briskly out of the way and stepped to the microphone.

"We're terribly sorry to interrupt, but have some business to discuss with Agent Mulder."

_Business, my ass_, Mulder thought. _And so it begins…_

The handcuff that appeared in sight hit Scully like a blow to the gut. Panic seized her; she had to get to her to her partner.

Even before half the guests had realized what was happening, the woman was already fighting with all her willpower to make it across the crowded room. The gilded hall was colossal and Scully was nothing more than a little red-headed ant threading her way through miles of black tuxedos and sequined gowns. She cursed herself for not standing closer.

Still at the podium she could see Mulder, calm as he was handcuffed by one of the officers. Perhaps it was the confusion, but Scully's brain couldn't figure out why he wasn't as alarmed as her.

The men were already beginning to lead her partner away, to a gold plated door to the side. What scared her even more was that she had thought she knew everything about the venue, but had neglected to note the door. What lay beyond was as unknown to her as the reasons for Mulder's sudden detention.

But someone did not want her to reach that door. Scully was halfway through the mass when she found herself landing painfully on the floor, seemingly having tripped over her own feet. _It's fine, Scully,_ she told herself, _just get up again and find him. It isn't like anybody purposely…_a hasty look behind her revealed a three inch long tear in the back seam of her dress, only feeding the fear growing inside her.

But the perpetrator was nowhere in sight. The elderly couple she had plowed through were kindly helping her to feet, or rather, attempting. Scully, while not dismissing them outright, still refused their help, rapidly standing on her own instead.

Scully was close enough now that she could not see Mulder above the heads of the people. Knowing she would probably regret screwing with her composure, but figuring that enough damage had already been done, Scully hiked up her ruined skirt above her knees and began to sprint.

--

Mulder had witnessed most of his partner's trek to him, but he had made no motion to help her. _She will understand…eventually. The deal had to be made._

Still, prepared as he was, when he saw Scully tripped, he felt a certain rage rise within him. He had thought he had made it clear that she was not to be harmed. But there was nothing to be done about it now. Although every natural instinct left in Mulder told him to rush over and explain every last reason behind his actions, to soothe her and make her see the situation as clearly as he did, all he would let himself partake of was one quick, final glance. A rough hand grasped his shoulder soon enough and turned him away, urging the man forward through the door into a small antechamber.

Once in the room, the officers briskly left Mulder's side, leaving him standing there alone. As he look around slowly, he smiled his all-knowing grimace.

"Hello, boys."


	2. Caught

_Sorry that the first few chapters of this might seem a bit muddled and ambiguous (but then again I can always come up the excuse that it's the X-Files; you're not supposed to completely understand :P). This was originally intended to be more of a stand-alone and the intro just as a means to get Mulder where I want him to be (you'll see), so don't get too attached to the mythology plot line seemingly started here…but then again maybe it will pop up later…anyway, I'm sorry for any confusion and doubly sorry if this little spiel just causes more perplexity :\_

_Anyway, onto the fun, and thanks very much for the reviews! Please keep them coming with as much honest feedback as you can give!_

--

The men stood in the shadows, the distinguishable features of their faces hid by the dim, dramatic lighting of the space. But this tactic—or any other, for that matter—to disguise their identities made no difference to Mulder; he knew very well who these men were.

"You seem rather unshaken, Mr. Mulder," came a voice from one of the more forward figures, "Although, I must say I expected it."

"So high and mighty you can anticipate me?"

"You make it sound as if we are gods, Mr. Mulder. I assure you; the truth is far from that. To mere mortals like you, we only appear so."

Mulder would've laughed, if one of the men hadn't beaten him to it. A small chuckle escaped from someone on the left side of the dark; it was silenced with a slow, calculated glare from the leader. Mulder swallowed his smile. Suddenly, he had become very afraid, afraid for himself, afraid for what this calm, taunting man had planned. _Still,_ _better to fight fire with fire than to crash and burn. _

"I suppose giving a mortal the same honor as a god may have tarnished your so spotless reputation a bit. Especially when—"

"If you desire to read into this, that is completely your choice. Tonight, however, was merely chosen for convenience."

Mulder involuntarily snorted.

"Keep telling yourself that. You know as well as I that by choosing to disservice me tonight, you would reach further; you would embarrass me and hurt those here to support me. Well, you failed; I saw it coming."

"But you didn't tell Agent Scully?"

Swallowing conspicuously, Mulder felt ashamed. He almost let head float down to just stare awkwardly at his toes, but his survival instinct wouldn't let him. He kept his eyes level with those across the room.

"She didn't need to know," he put blankly, "Scully is not important here."

"Then perhaps were should forego giving her this?"

He held up a small package to the light. It was freshly wrapped in brown paper and a simple encompassing twine held it together.

"You wouldn't dare," Mulder said threateningly, "That was our de—"

"Not to worry, I mean not to go back on our arrangement. I just think you should watch what you say."

The talking shadow reached down, a thin, bony hand retrieving something from a table Mulder hadn't even noticed was there. The man swapped the enigmatic package for the object. As he brought it into sight, the object was revealed to be a standard tape recorder, ensuring with each methodically spin of the tape that everything occurring would be on record forever.

"I don't imagine visiting hours where you're going will be quite enough to explain the contents of this conversation to your partner."

"You idiot—you can't release that; it would expose you."

He was trying in vain to regain his footing. He had, foolishly, he now saw, expected to be able to barter equally with these men. Instead, they were, as ever before, the ones calling the shots.

"Who said anything about us? We give only what we see fit," the voice cooed, "And I can tell your best interests do not include her knowing what you've said tonight. However much you believe Agent Scully trusts you, someone with a brain so rational and diligent must at some point doubt the reasoning of a person who follows such illogical hunches as you. I dare say she's been frantically attempting to access this room for the entire duration of out conversation, but if she were to learn to what ends you so rudely left her in the dark…"

"I don't care what you do," Mulder spat with a surprisingly calm air, "I'm going to explain to her eventually."

Even though his face remained darkened, the handcuffed Agent could tell that the man had smiled.

"Well, we won't bother beating you to the punch."

He picked up the brown package again, motioning to someone on his right side. One of the officers came running and the man placed it into the palm of his hand, whispering some instructions. Finally, the mysterious figure turned back to Mulder.

"All in all, I must thank you for your cooperation."

He stepped forward and as his face became awash with light, Mulder briefly recalled his name. But before he could decipher his identity to mean anything, something hard and heavy struck Mulder in the back of his skull. As he painfully sunk to his knees, the world dissolved into the murky, black soup of unconsciousness.

--

Indeed, Agent Scully had been impatiently trying to pry open the door. After a few futile jiggles at the handle, she was smart enough to realize that it was useless; the door was locked good and tight. Instead, she looked for help—in whatever form it was to take.

Not to mention that AD Skinner, whom she and Mulder had conversed with earlier that evening, had oddly disappeared. Scully was at loss as to what to do next. Mulder was always getting into trouble, it was an inevitable part of his character, but Scully, independent as she was, had relied on others to aid getting him off more than she had imagined.

But the hall had more or less emptied. How the guests knew to leave wasn't clear, but they all seemed to have received a vibe when the honoree was arrested that it was time to call it a night or, at best, scatter. Some pieces of litter speckled the floor and three or so people were still in the hall, talking quietly amongst themselves.

_Well,_ she decided, _Mulder went into that room; he has to eventually come out again._

She vowed to let no one leave the room uninterrogated. Sitting down on a marbled step, Scully positioned herself so that she could view any activity around the door, but if someone was looking for her, she was carefully hidden behind a railing. Then she waited.

In her heart, Scully felt fear for Mulder and it was only by designating herself a task that she was able to stay levelheaded. It was an approach that had worked a good many times before and, she hoped, would help her remain the rational one far into the future. In this case, she found her heart had indeed stopped pounding and her body had relaxed. Still, she sat up rather tense and straight and after Mulder had been gone for ten minutes, Scully discovered that her foot had fallen asleep.

As she stood up inconspicuously to shift to a more comfortable position, a voice startled her. As she began to turn, she learned the identity of the speaker. Her blood ran cold and her heart threatened to leap out of her chest again.

"A girl as smart as you should have figured there was another entrance to that room."

Scully watched her foe closely; her eyes scoured with her classic skeptical gaze. He only responded by dropping the still smoldering cigarette onto the ground and extinguishing it nonchalantly against the marbled, antique floor.

"What do you want?" the petite Agent bit bitterly back, "Where's Mulder?"

"I had nothing to do with tonight."

"Liar."

"I have something to give you."

"I hope for your sake it's Mulder."

"I'm sorry, my dear, but the exchange has already been made."

"What exchange?"

The smoking man reached into his lapel pocket. Scully almost took a step back; her instinct told her he had a weapon. But all he withdrew was the brown package, still intact.

"This," he said, holding it up for Scully to see, "For Mulder."

He held it out to her. Without taking her narrowed eyes off his face, she received it from him.

"Not a bad trade. What that parcel contains is of indeterminate value. To Mulder. To you. To your cause."

The man was subtle, but Scully could hear the sneering tone as he mentioned their 'cause.' She despised him so much; Scully wanted to slam the package into the floor, to spit on it or throw it back into Cancerman's face, just to spite him, to prove that she valued her partner's life far above any crap the government could hand her. But she knew it wasn't crap. Mulder had, though perhaps unwisely, traded his life for whatever information this small bundle held. As much as it pained her to accept it, Scully respected her partner too much to let anything happen to this item of supposed importance.

She clutched it tightly in her hand, leveling her gaze with the man again.

"I don't think you understand. My partner has had no authority to—"

The man leaned in and Scully stiffened as the stale, haunting smell of cigarette smoke filled her nostrils.

"It's done," he said definitively.

He turned to leave, his tall, lanky limbs carrying him briskly across the floor.

Scully was left standing in disbelief. The room had completely emptied now and the Agent stood forlorn amongst a forgotten expanse. The chandelier's light danced daintily along the tiles, blissfully ignorant of the fact that the joviality had been cut short.

She stumbled across the remains of an evening that never was to be, in her rumpled black gown, mindlessly carrying with her the cause of such ruin. The small parcel was responsible for the all the distress of the night, but Scully couldn't help but think that they had been swindled worse than ever before.

--

He was caught; he'd known it as soon as he'd made the decision to detour down the alleyway and caught a glimpse of the dark brick wall straight ahead.

"Damn," he muttered.

But he wouldn't sweat it, even as the sirens drew closer and louder and the blue blob of the cop appeared, back lit by the street lights and casting a long, menacing shadow down the corridor. He wouldn't sweat it, for his methods had ways of leaving no evidence; even of they caught him, they would never be able to charge him.

This was just a mild inconvenience in his messy plan. The arrest would just take time, that's all. Besides, he doubted if any of the hillbillies foolishly attempting to catch him would be capable to make any connections at all. That was good. Unless they discovered the other one and opened it up to the Feds…

As the authoritative figure moved closer, the fugitive began to shake. _Stop_, he told himself_, you're letting the old you come back. You're a new person, better than this lowly cowardice. No one will put the pieces together. You have no tracks to cover. _

The cop pointed his gun even with the man.

"Stop and exit the alley with your hands in sight."

The man, still on edge, put on a brave face and took a hesitant step into the cold light, his hands high in the air, and his brain racing to determine how to get himself out of this unanticipated predicament.


	3. Awoken

_Thanks for the few more reviews and I PROMISE to try and up date more often..._

_Guess I'll say here that I am intending for this to take place in Season 6-ish, when Mulder and Scully are off the X-Files and under the jurisdiction of AD Kersh._

_And because I just realized that I forget to do this on the first two chapter: The X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter and Fox and whoever else owns them...this is most definitely just for fun and not for profit..._

--

Dawn crept slowly over the sand, the golden orb cresting the sky blazing its own steady pace. The ocean shimmered with the promise and radiance of a new day and each wave that broke itself gaily upon the foaming sands seemed to ask, to beg, what the day was to be.

The tall, familiar Agent seated himself among the driftwood, on a rather pale, white-washed log. A salty breeze ruffled his already disobedient hair and flapped his trench coat around in way which he had always found empowering. Slowly, he shifted the weight of his toes in the sand, shoveling some grains pointlessly to the side.

He looked up contemplatively and noticed her.

A recognizable figure of petite stature walked gently along the water's edge, her red hair dancing across her face in the wind. Her distance from him was so far that even though she moved briskly and with direction, she only seemed to inch across the grainy expanse. It took a moment for him to realize that she was walking away.

"Wait!" he called, leaping to his feet, "Where are you going? Wait!"

He began to run, tripping over rocks and pieces of wood as he stumbled along. The sand was shifty and didn't respond well to such focused contact; he found himself fighting to keep on his feet.

Finally, he reached the hard, wetter surface. He kept sprinting and shouting, but his partner did not turn. A larger wave washed ashore, soaking his shoes, socks and pants; he didn't care. He had to reach her in time.

She was within ten yards, then six, then three. At about two feet, he reached out a cold, damp hand. His touch startled her and she pivoted, surprised. Her red eyes searched his face; it was evident she had been crying.

_Over me._

But her careful features held no trace of recognition.

"It's me," he spoke softly, confidentially.

"Do I know you?"

Her voice was straight and even, clear cut and monotone against the many layered sound of the sea.

"I did it for you. For us."

"What?"

"The tape. The secret. The _truth_."

She didn't comprehend. Instead, she drew her gun shakily and aimed it at his chest, at his heart.

"Sir, I must ask you to take a step back."

"But—"

"Take one more step forward and I pull this trigger."

He watched her closely, his hurt eyes trying to determine if this was indeed happening or if he dreamed. Without thinking, he stepped forward to further explain.

A fluttering of white wings and a bit of whirring sand immediately followed the shot, as a flock of disturbed seagulls fled the scene.

--

Mulder woke with a start. He was sweating so profusely that his vision was blurred, but even with his head still in the pillow, he could tell that his surroundings had not changed. The world remained grey and black, a small patch of light flooding dramatically though the window and its bars; moonlight it hardly was, floodlights more the like.

Without warning, a small head appeared in the Mulder's fuzzy picture of the world. It grinned eerily, like a lunatic.

The awakened prisoner sighed and cautiously sat up. His head was throbbing.

"What is it, Clancy?"

"I told you," the head said, bearing a distinctive southern accent, "it's Mr. Mortimer to you."

"Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Mortimer," Mulder countered halfheartedly, "But not many tend to care at whatever ungodly hour in the morning it is. I might as well call you Bob."

"If you think you can defend yourself against a murder, then by all means call me 'Bob'. Besides, you'd care if I was your partner."

"But you're not," the drowsy Agent pointed out. Then he stopped and glared down his cellmate. "How do you know about Scully?"

"Ah. So she does have a name."

Mulder sat up straighter, leaning into the man. They were both quite awake now.

"What do you mean?"

"You had that dream again tonight."

"Again, how do you know that?"

"You talk in you sleep."

Mulder relaxed a bit. For a moment he thought he was dealing with an X-File.

"So, what's it to you?"

"Nothing, I suppose," Clancy shrugged, retreating to his cot, "Besides, I'm breaking this dungeon in a few days anyway."

"Huh," Mulder answered, "Where are you going?"

"Doesn't matter a long as I get parole. Once I'm out—I'm out."

"Can't imagine them letting a maniac like you walk the streets."

"It's happening anyway, sweetheart," Mortimer taunted, grinning toothily, "Ain't got enough evidence to keep me locked up."

"But you pleaded guilty."

"But they got no substantial proof to prove that I didn't lie about being guilty."

Mulder sighed. He didn't want to argue with this pothead any longer; the man either had done it and was getting off on a small loophole in the system or had fibbed about even being evolved, perhaps just for bragging rights. It was a gross perversion of justice either way and Mulder knew it, but sadly he was powerless to stop it.

The truth was, he had lost all ambition since being locked away. The powers that be had put him here to rot, in some lowly county jail, placed among the common criminals. For the first few days he was restless, itching to get out, but he soon realized that he was doomed to spend the rest of eternity here if that was what suited their agenda. As he eventually recognized this fact, he came to an attempted equilibrium with his surroundings, which in this case was letting any hope that he had left blow away in the wind.

The only comfort he had was Scully, whom he, in all honesty, felt he would see again soon. She was smart enough to find him. He needed her to arrive, to reanimate him, to give him the strength to fight for his freedom. Agent Scully was not only his possible ticket out, but she was his partner; she would bring comfort and a plan. That was, if he could explain to her. He did realize, however, that he was in for a strict reprimand either way.

And the reoccurring nightmare that haunted him every moment of potential rest didn't give much hope.

--

Just past Claysville, West Virginia

6:34 AM

--

The thermos of Earl Grey sitting in the cup holder of Scully's car still steamed without end, remaining much too hot to drink. It was one of those little things that frustrated her, a tiny problem made worse by the more significant ones it was context to. Waking up at the crack of dawn was never pleasant and although made slightly easier from not sleeping a wink the night before, it didn't eliminate the fact that she was tired. The Agent wanted her caffeine.

Scully tried to keep her eyes steadily on the road, but found herself often closing them, trying to alter their state from the bloodshot red they had been for days. She didn't want her partner to think the worst, even if it pretty much had been.

Skinner had aided her in finding Mulder, but their covert searches were often interrupted by sporadic assignments from AD Kersh. He seemed to anticipate Scully's every decision and made sure to send her out of town when she planned to meet a contact or devote any of her well-worth time to Mulder's rescue efforts. He had overworked her, not sparing her any mercy; he expected exactly the same amount of work on his desk each morning as if they were both there. The past few weeks had been, to put it simply, exhausting and traumatizing.

Finally, even under careful surveillance, Skinner had gotten a message from the sheriff of a small town in West Virginia, Elk Garden. A prisoner had been kept there for the past two weeks, brought in by government officials who were devoid of any explanation. No one knew what a man such as he, one not quite the character of the usual ruffians who walked the cells, had done to get himself locked up. The sheriff had described the prisoner as polite and wry, but with an odd sense of humor that sent the other inmates into quandaries of philosophical speculation of their own role in the ways of the universe. And as having 'a face that would make the ladies around here squirm.'

If it wasn't Mulder, then it had to be Mulder.

When Mulder came to mind, Scully realized that she was, of course, still extremely irked that he had left her so in the dust, frustrated that she had had no explanation or even warning. But, on top of that she had spent many a long, sleepless night fretting over his whereabouts and in his absence her hurt and rage has vented. Now she was more worried than anything, anxious to get answers, but just as anxious to simply see him. And after having the Gunmen reveal the contents of the tape, which she had brought with her, tucked carefully in the bottom of her bag, she could see his reasons slightly more justified.

Still, to keep her little endeavor to visit the jail herself under radar, Scully had left her D.C. home before the sun, stopping a few miles back to get the steaming tea the now sloshed around. To avoid arousing suspicion, she knew she had to be back before three. Otherwise Kersh would be asking questions outside of the anticipated: 'How was your weekend visit to your mother?' That was her excuse; a family gathering had run overtime and her mother wouldn't let her out of the house until she was well-rested, fed and sober. The degree of the tale's believability was debatable, but Scully was confident it would work. Her mother was in on it and as long as Kersh didn't ask why Scully had called Skinner instead of him, they would be good. With any luck, he wouldn't even ask at all, but the weathered Agent knew better than to count on luck for anything.

Scully slammed on the brakes. A squirrel had darted across the road. She had heard once that one wasn't supposed to stop for them; they timed their daredevil dashes with the speed of the car as to not get hit, but Scully didn't want to even take the chance of being held responsible for the death of a living creature. Besides, she was a medical doctor, not a veterinarian.

Slightly on edge from the sudden break in speed, she gingerly pressed on the gas, building up momentum again. Ahead, she saw the sign.

'Welcome to Elk Garden,' it read in large, curly letters, 'Have a pleasant stay.'

She chuckled to herself. _Perhaps I will._

The town was indeed small; not more than a few thousand inhabitants, Scully guessed. The neighborhood had a pleasant charm to it, in all its barren remoteness. She could understand how some would find life in the country agreeable, but she knew it would never fit her character or lifestyle.

It took her no less than ten minutes to find the building of the aforementioned county jail; it was rather deviously tucked away on the outskirts of downtown—well, a relative downtown. Pulling into an empty lot, she noted the squad car as the only vehicle in the vicinity.

A small bell sang gaily as Scully pushed open the front door. It was a rather oxymoronic entrance to such a place as a police station, but it gave her another tiny lift of spirits. Maybe there was something to be said about this welcoming locale far from the deceiving antics of the Capitol.

"May I help you?"

A strong, gruff voice sounded from behind a high counter.

"Sheriff Philip O'Dell?"

The man nodded once. His uniform was freshly pressed, but a wry strand of hair stuck up in back of his hatless head, bouncing up and down as he talked and moved about.

"I'm here to speak to a prisoner. My friend called you about me coming?"

"You're Diana Keene?"

Scully nodded as inconspicuously as she could. The disguise wasn't her idea; it was Skinner's. They both had figured that to have Scully pull her badge might have had an effect on the local population to service her well, but the benefits would also be greater if she kept a low profile. Thus came about Diana. Scully hadn't chosen the name.

"Sign in, please."

He pushed forward a guestbook with surprisingly yellowed corners. The last date of a visitor, she noticed, had been two months previous. She scribbled her pseudonym messily and glanced back up at the waiting sheriff.

"Well, he's right back here."

The man came out to the small space in which Scully stood, walking past her to a door that lead back into the bowels of the building. He was a squat man, but fit, with a tight, energized walk.

"Mind the other detainees don't give you hell," he advised her as he fumbled with the door handle, "Some of them could benefit from an etiquette class and I would hate to see a lady such as yourself—"

"Thanks for the concern, sir, but I assure you I've seen worse."

He looked at her quizzically and continued on through the hallways of the building. Finally, they reached a heavy door, which O'Dell swung open rapidly, allowing the 'lady' to enter first. Scully almost tripped over her own feet, not realizing the small step down into the room.

"Watch your step," the sheriff warned after the fact.

The space was hazy, dark and stuffy. The floor and walls were, as was to be expected, a grey, chilly concrete, but the atmosphere was even more stifling than usual. Scully wondered how Mulder's spirits had fared in such a setting; would he remain his ever eager self or would the damp have, by some gross twist of fate, ironed out his striving, curious nature?

--

Mulder had heard the door close, but could not make out the entrants. He leaned back onto his meager cot and shut his eyes. He could hear the footsteps getting closer and wondered if it could possibly be her. Part of him didn't want to know, didn't want to open his eyes. If he did, and it was all shown up for some cruel trick, just another dream, it would crush him even further.

The clunk of shoes stopped right outside his cell. Cautiously, he sat up.

"Mulder?"

He relaxed and opened his eyes. It was her.


	4. Turned

_So...sorry..I pulled a classic 'me' manuever and managed to disappear off the face of the earth for a while...but I'm back! I actually had this chapter written for a week or two, but was hestitant to post it because I didn't even know if I was going to continue this story. Then 'M' posted a review, I figured, what the heck, I might as well continue, at least with this chapter. Hehe...reviews can do that!_

_I have a vague idea of what might happen next, but any ideas are appreciated! And trthisoutthere, I do hope that you're not horribly offended that I disappeared, or that I'm just posting this; just message me of you have any thoughts._

_I still do not X-Files, or its characters, or its premise or anything..._

--

Sheriff O'Dell brandished a set of medieval-looking keys and unlocked the cell. Mulder had stayed quiet, just watching Scully. She entered stiffly, but a rare smile broke across her tired face when he approached. He gave her a hug. She just stood there. It was all they needed.

Outside, O'Dell awkwardly cleared his throat. The two Agents turned, startled.

"I'm gonna lock you in there, if you don't mind. I'll be right down the hall, so just holler."

"Sure," Scully responded, without thinking much of it.

The door was shut with a self-righteous clang and O'Dell began his ascent out. As soon as he was out of earshot, Scully spoke quietly to Mulder, her voice low, but fast.

"Mulder, what the hell did you do? You've got yourself locked in some county jail and as glad as I am to see you, I—and Skinner—want a full explanation immediately. You left me alone, Mulder. Alone with nothing but silence and a halfhearted ally. Alone with a tape, for god's sake! As if some piece of electronic equipment was to account for my partner's arrest and detainment at the hands of devilish men with delusional fantasies about saving the world, men who you've known all along would prefer you dead than to have any lead at all—you could've been killed, Mulder!"

Her voice had grown faster and more aggravated as she continued to drill him; all of her frustration and anxiety of the moment was unleashed from some boiling point beneath her cool exterior. By the time she spewed out his surname, she was shouting.

Her partner stayed quiet, looking at her, not unkindly, with his searching, brown eyes. Gently, so quietly at first that Scully thought he was crying, Mulder began to chuckle.

"Are you laughing at me?" Scully questioned, her voice raspy as a result of her reprimand and slightly offended.

He nodded briskly, unable to speak. Slowly, she began to smile too, as Mulder broke with a huge grin.

"It's just—," he blurted, "It's just I've imagined this scene so many times. And somehow, Scully, I have to admit, you never manage to even remotely defy conventional explanation."

She laughed a small, tired laugh.

"God, I missed you."

"Is this the missus?"

A voice had spoken menacingly from the shadows. Mortimer came forward into the light, his beady eyes fixed on Scully. He had been privy to their whole conversation and, for a moment, Mulder cursed himself for not realizing his presence.

"Ah, Scully," Mulder said, looking over to the scrawny man into the corner, "This is _Mr._ Clancy Mortimer."

Scully caught the sarcasm in his voice plain and simple.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Scully," he replied, running his tongue mindlessly over his few front teeth.

"Actually," Scully amended, "You can—should—call me Keene. Diana Keene." She glanced at Mulder. "Scully's just a nickname."

Mulder stared with intrigue, his sly smile subtly strewn across his face. Mortimer, however, appeared to lose interest and wandered over to his side of the cell. Scully looked back to Mulder, unsure, but continuing on.

"We need to get you back to DC, where we can get real legal aid. Do you know on what charges they have been holding you?"

"I'm sorry to tell you this, _Diana_, but I don't think that they've thought that far ahead. It's more they just needed somewhere to put me, somewhere out of their way and where no one could find me _to_ get me out."

"Well, we've foiled their plan that much."

"Listen to me, Scully. I'm not coming out until they want me out. If they know you've been here, they'll just move me again."

"If that is true, I don't know how to help you, Mulder."

"Then don't."

"What? And leave you here? Never—"

"Just continue our undercover work on the X-Files. That's where the answers lie. I'll work on getting myself out."

"Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?"

"Do I ever tell you everything?"

"You trust me."

Mulder sighed a weighty, concerned sigh and glanced away.

"If you somehow release me from prison, then they are going to come down on me with all they have. So far, they have upheld their end of the deal—but only because I have mine. Part of that arrangement was that you were to be left unbothered and unharmed. Don't you see, Scully? I can't have anything happen to you—"

"Mulder." She brought his face back to hers with her words. "This is exactly why we _don't_ deal with them. I can take care of myself. I am getting you out of here and back at your desk with your badge and your ridiculous poster—where you belong."

And with that she had found new energy, new drive. Perhaps it was enough for the both of them, and then perhaps it wasn't. Either way, she was a woman on a mission and nothing got in Dana Scully's way when she found herself dedicated to a task.

She turned to leave.

"Sheriff O'Dell?" she shouted confidently down the hallway. The clang of a door could be heard as he came through the offices beyond the little dungeon.

"Sc—Keene," Mulder stumbled, "Wait. Do you have something to write on?"

Scully sighed and bit her lip, proceeding to fumble around in her bag for a pen and notepad.

"Here." She offered them to him.

Mulder took them without hesitation and began to scribble something hastily. When he was done, O'Dell was already at the cell, unlocking and swinging it open.

Accepting the sheet from his hand, Scully felt them both hesitate when their fingers touched. But it was over as soon as it began and the piece of paper was folded and tucked away into the Agent's pocket.

Grey met brown as eye contact was made.

"Look that up in the files. It might give you something to go after," Mulder stated simply.

Scully nodded briskly for what seemed like the hundredth time that day and stepped out of the caged space, leaving to follow O'Dell back into the lighter, cheerier part of the building.

As she reached the door, her partner's voice stopped her. She took a few steps in his direction.

"I just wanted to say," he said slowly, almost with melancholy, "that on that night, you looked—beautiful. I never got the chance to tell you."

Although he couldn't see her in the murky black, she beamed. Yet as she turned to leave for good, a lone tear rolled down her pale cheek.

--

It wasn't until she made it out of the station and was sitting in her car that Scully noticed how quickly her heart was beating. The same manifestation of her emotions so briefly witnessed in the dark cell had been hastily wiped away as immediately as she found her way out the door.

The sun had arisen on the droopy town in the little while she had been inside and the driver's seat was a toasty temperature as she gingerly lowered herself to it.

Scully breathed deeply and laid herself back, keeping the car door open. She reached over to find her still full tea lukewarm. Disheartened, she emptied its contents into a patch of already dead grass within arms reach. Something crinkled in her pocket and, sitting back up, she withdrew Mulder's note.

Despite her intention to examine it when she arrived back in D.C., the accumulating weight of the improbable circumstances and her strangely overwhelming emotions resulted in an unstoppable urge to know what her partner desired her to know. Unfolding the paper hastily, she focused her tired eyes on the small, black scrawl and found herself just barely resisting a gasp. If she had been the type, her mouth would have surely stayed open slightly longer, but her experience had prepared her well and she gathered herself quickly.

After the unspeakable artifact was thrown on the passenger seat, the keys were briskly inserted into the ignition and the door slammed shut; the car squealed as it was put into reverse.

As a certain Agent Scully shot out of the little cluster of buildings the locals called a town, beside her lay the sheet, darkening as it passed through the forlorn shadows of trees and blaring white as bleached sunlight hit it. A name of a man decorated it, a name of a man she remembered only from recent dictation, one who was now locked in a steel cage with the person she cared most about.

Clancy Mortimer was moving up in the world.

--

That his cellmate remained completely oblivious to the fact that an investigation had been opened regarding him, Mulder was almost certain. Almost.

The aforementioned man had sat in the dark after Scully left, just a body in the corner. His chilly eyes observed. He was starting to creep out Spooky himself. Silence hung deftly in the air, but seemed to pressure something to be said. Mulder racked his brain and, without realizing how cold it really was, leaned back against the hard wall. The motion sent chills through him. Suddenly, he had to say something, to fill the ghastly void that was the room. Nothing came out. He had no words; an odd effect it was.

Instead, the felon spoke.

"She wasn't very happy with you."

Mulder glanced up, but didn't respond. This didn't please Mortimer; he wanted to talk.

"She's very pretty."

Rolling his head to stare at Mortimer, Mulder remained silent.

"I mean, that hug—"

"Do you want something from me?"

Mortimer acted surprised.

"No. Just thought you might like someone to talk to."

"I wasn't aware we had anything pressing to discuss."

"Seems we've found something to go at."

"You got me talking," Mulder said, just numb, cold and tired of his roommate's petty games, "Any conversation topic preferences?"

"Not really," Mortimer mused, feigning disinterest, "You. Your partner. Life."

"You want to be my shrink?"

"Oh, hardly that. I just want to be someone you can turn to—a friend—a trustworthy friend."

His face completely neutral, Mulder stood and sauntered towards the man in the corner. Mortimer was by no means small, but for the moment, Mulder found the power to be intimidating, to be over this scum. Leaning forward, he locked eyes with the man.

"Listen, Clancy. I don't just trust anyone. And I definitely don't trust you."

--

FBI Headquarters

District of Columbia

2:24 PM

--

Skinner was pleased when a tired, but altogether Scully of the usual sort came trooping through his office door that afternoon. That she had hardly spoken a word to him when his blonde secretary informed the AD that the director wanted to see him, didn't please.

"Excuse me," he sighed to a just seated Scully.

"Of course, sir."

He stood up irritably and crossed to the door, shutting it forcefully behind him. Scully remained in her seat, studying the various pictures that hung around the room; she'd looked at them as many times before, but had never really examined them. It was an interesting display, a view into an individual's mind by the collection of honored persons on his wall, but it hadn't ever been quite enough to hold her interest. The story that day, however, seemed to be different. That was, until her unconscious evaluation of Skinner's character was interrupted but a buzzing and ringing in her pocket.

Without thinking twice, Scully answered her phone.

"Hello?"

"Dana Scully?"

Scully paused.

"Who is this?"

She waited a moment, listening for the voice to make its way out of the static. Soon, a pointed click stung the quiet, informing her that the caller had hung up. She instantly hung up too, wrote down the caller ID and began to dial another number, one that how been programmed into her instinct for a long time.

"Danny?" She asked clearly, "It's Scully. I need a trace on a number that just called this phone."

The number was relayed and Scully sat back in her seat. _Could it be him? He does have privilege to a phone._

She jumped a little as the opening door startled her. Skinner entered, his face containing his unique, scowled expression.

"Sorry about that, Scully," he apologized as he took his place behind his desk.

"It's no matter, sir."

"It seems Kersh had a little word with the director about you and your partner's predicament and, naturally, your instinct to turn to me instead of your assigned superior. I feel now is the appropriate time to ask; did you find him?"

Scully hesitated, watching Skinner solemnly.

"I'm on your side, Scully," he prodded, sensing her inhibition, "Your expedition remains confidential between us."

"He was—there," she leveled with him.

"And you spoke to him?"

"Briefly. He had a cellmate and not much could be discussed within earshot."

"No visiting room?"

Scully leaned forward in her seat.

"Sir, Mulder was adamant that we attract as little attention as possible. And—"

She paused, her grey-blue eyes revealing her search for the most appropriate words.

"And he did—doesn't want for us to find a means to release him."

"Why the hell not?"

Scully caught her breath in her throat, holding back an answer not fully formed. It had taken a while, but she was ready to cooperate with Mulder's wishes. Skinner, however, would not accept the understanding between the two Agents as the only justification. In fact, he would probably get out of it that something was wrong, the two being so pitched against each other on a day to day basis.

"Sir, I think what Mulder fears might be better explained if you can relate it to what you encountered today. What exactly did the director reveal to you regarding Agent Mulder and myself?"

Skinner's face found a moment to accept what she had just said, but then his defense mechanism kicked in.

"I ask the questions here," he blurted, his focus snapping back to the woman in front of him, "That is out of line, Agent Scully."

"With all due respect, I believe you are just as curious as I—"

"This meeting is over," he ordered briskly.

He was on his feet behind his desk; it was a simple reassurance of his power. As quickly as he stood, Scully followed, her defiant stare glaring into her boss.

"Right now, Mulder is lost, trapped and belittled," she said, her voice rising to disguise the quiver creeping into it, "I saw him—I saw his face. And it pleaded for help, help that he was afraid to ask for because for some reason it seemed to contradict all other motives he had. _I _need help deciphering what he means by this. Mulder is gone without us—without you. Whatever trust the men behind this place in you, sir, can assist. I can only hope you make the right decision."

AD Skinner watched the red haired Agent before him, seriously considering her words. His toughened exterior, however, would never show it.

"You will return to you normal duties immediately and will be assigned a new partner if circumstances give no indication of change in the immediate future. Do I make myself clear?"

Without a word, Scully pivoted and headed towards the door, Skinner watching every step. Her hand was on the door handle.

"And Agent Scully—"

She hesitated, then turned back from the door to face the stoic AD.

"Don't act as if we've lost him. He isn't gone. I don't think he ever could be."

Scully stood in silence, her eyes dropping from his face to the carpet at his feet, then fluttering back up to seemingly look past him.

"Yes, sir," she muttered.

She exited briskly, tightly clutching in her hand the folder containing the information on Clancy Mortimer she'd retrieved out of the database as soon as she had gotten back to her desk. For some reason, whether it was the excuse she told herself or something deeper and darker hidden in her soul, she hadn't shown it to Skinner. She'd meant to, but the encounter had gone sour quickly. Besides, there was also that constant yearning in her heart of love and trust; it urged her to find another means, to realize that this was something she had to accomplish on her own.

--

_Reviews, anyone?_


End file.
